


Incarcerous

by canis_m



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti-Boner Jinx, Caretaking, Daddy kink without use of the word daddy, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild shushing, Oral Sex, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 06:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_m/pseuds/canis_m
Summary: Graves gets Credence to tie him up.  It doesn't go quite as planned.





	Incarcerous

Graves tested the black silk wrappings that bound his hands to the bedposts. They gave slightly, looser than they ought to be, but that was the caster's uncertainty showing in the spell. You had to mean it, and Credence didn't, quite.

The spell was a variation on one Credence had already learned. Silk bands instead of rough cords, and hands only--that was the difference. If Graves' approach to magical curriculum diverged from the traditional, well, after a few months of study Credence was better prepared to defend against hostile wizardry than the average Ilvermorny senior. They were working on post-graduate stuff.

Credence lowered his wand, still staring at the spell's effect. "Now what?"

This application was more of an experiment. It wasn't that Graves was wild about being trussed up. He'd been on the receiving end of _Incarcerous_ and its ilk in too many downright aggravating situations to add it to his favorites list. After that business with Gnarlak's gang, you could keep blindfolds the hell away from him, thanks very much. But a little fun with cuffed hands could be all right, with the right co-conspirator.

Credence had grown out of being timid, but he was never what you might call _grabby_. A spirit of hesitance underlay even his most daring grasps. He was more likely to ask for touch the way an animal would, wordless, with his whole body, by leaning or huddling or pressing into Graves' side.

Graves had expected him to grow beyond that, too, with time, and had begun to cultivate mild worry when he didn't. It was outside Graves' experience: none of his past lovers had tended to shyness. Being bashful didn't land men in bed with him, broadly speaking. Credence was, as in many things, a singular case.

That singular case knelt at the foot of the bed, wearing one of Graves' dressing gowns, the black one, loosely belted. Nothing underneath. He had dressing gowns of his own, of course--handsome ones--but Credence seemed partial, and Graves could never bring himself to object. The robe's front gaped to offer a glimpse of one rosy nipple. Graves gave a contented sigh.

Aside from the silk bands that restrained him, Graves wore nothing at all. The bedsheet lay crumpled over his hips in an allusion to primness. He shifted one leg under the sheet, getting comfy, and settled back against the pillows. 

"Now you do whatever you want," he said.

Credence looked dubious. He floated his wand to the bedside table, letting it settle next to Graves' in the warm glow of the lamp. They made a fine picture, Graves often thought, side by side together: ebony and birch, dark and pale, the one a little longer than the other. 

Credence crept forward on hands and knees, cautious as a cat, to sit between Graves' legs. His glance kept straying to the bindings at Graves' wrists. A small furrow formed in his brow.

"You can undo it, though, can't you?" 

"Sure," Graves said easily. It'd be a stretch without a wand, with tied hands, but not beyond him. "I don't plan to, but I can. So can you. You know how."

The furrow began to ease. Credence scooted forward and laid a hand over Graves' heart. His long fingers slid through the graying hair on Graves' chest. The look on his face was so soberly intent that Graves might've reached to tickle him--right in the armpits, no mercy--if his own hands hadn't been bound.

Credence traced a slow line from Graves' collarbone to shoulder, along the contours of his outstretched arm, to the dark silk that encircled his right wrist. Pausing there, he touched the bindings. He drew a short, sharp breath.

His hand withdrew. He looked down to the increasingly pert middle of Graves' lap, which was still covered demurely by the sheet. 

Graves didn't squirm. It was too soon for squirming, even if his dick had been paying alert attention to the proceedings since they started. 

"You want to get that out of the way?" he asked, nodding at the sheet.

Eyes lowered, Credence shifted between Graves' legs. He took hold of the sheet and drew it slowly down. 

The incremental skim of smooth cotton over his cock made Graves tip his head back to the headboard with a clunk. His throat worked on an appreciative noise. Then, when no further action was forthcoming, he raised his head again and blinked.

Credence was crouching, nose inches from home base. The faint crease between his brows had re-formed, but that might've been from sheer concentration. Graves waited, growing more and more emphatically erect, until Credence reached for his shaft. Light as it was, the first touch of his fingers felt more torturous than sweet. Graves made a low sound in his throat. 

"Should I--"

"Whatever you want," Graves said. 

Abruptly Credence turned his head aside and drew his fingers back. He didn't look up. He didn't look happy. The strain in his face wasn't what Graves wanted to see there, period, let alone when that face was anywhere near his dick. His gut did an unpleasant tumble. He fisted his hands against the bindings, then schooled himself to calm.

"Credence? You okay?"

A hurried nod. Graves found the hurry suspicious, if not quite shady enough to second guess. Some of his concern must've shown, because Credence sat halfway up and drew his hands onto his lap. 

"I know it's not real," he said, as if laboring for words. "That you can get free any time. It just feels...strange."

"Not good strange," hazarded Graves. As a late entrant to the wizarding world, Credence had plenty of experience with good strange. Bad strange, too. More than enough to tell the difference. 

Credence shook his head. 

"You want to call it quits?" Graves asked gently. "We can." Then, when Credence shook his head again, frowning, "You want me to tell you what to do? Would that help?"

At that Credence looked up. His shoulders moved: a flinch of relief. He nodded.

If friendly suggestions were contrary to the spirit of being tied up, or indeed to his original intention, Graves couldn't muster a single damn to give about it. "All right," he said. "I liked where things were going a minute ago. You were doing just fine."

A faint smile flickered from Credence. He bent, uncurling to stretch his legs behind him and hunker down, belly to the bed between Graves' knees. He wrapped a hand around the base of Graves' shaft and leaned in.

The head of Graves' cock was blushing something fierce. Eyelids shuttered, Credence nuzzled at it, smearing the sticky wet with parted lips. Watching, Graves dragged a breath through his nose, then groaned as Credence took as much as he could into his mouth.

That sweet wet heat, and Credence giving it--Graves' head fell back. His knees skewed open. For the first time he felt the bindings on his wrists as a burden, an impertinence that denied his hands their rightful place on the head bent to his lap. In the dark hair he loved to touch. Not to yank. To sift in his palm and gloat like a miser over treasure.

"That's it," said Graves thickly, remembering words. He forgot them again as Credence began to suck. "Oh, Credence. You're so good for me."

Credence responded as he usually did, with tremors and redoubled efforts. The small sound he made in answer shot straight through Graves' cock to his tailbone, lighting white pleasure up the base of his spine. 

"Mercy." Graves flashed his teeth in a grin. "You want to do that again? Make some noise for me, sweetheart. Feels good."

Credence moaned around his cock. The quiver of his voice set off more fireworks. The fire seemed to work on both of them: Credence's hips were swiveling of their own accord, grinding into the bed as he worked. 

Graves sank into his pillow, swallowed by wet heat and soft, slick sounds. He thought about dispensing with the dressing gown by way of magic, so he could watch the lovely roll and clench of Credence's behind, but that seemed even less in the spirit of being tied up, which he was flouting left and right already. 

The heat rose in him, molten, like mercury in glass. Credence showed no sign of letting up. Graves' arms grew taut, straining against the silk, as if in echo of the tension in his loins. The bindings gave so far, and no farther. Graves rocked his hips forward, coaxed by Credence's pulls on his cock to fuck, ever so gently, into his mouth. He lowered his head, breathing hard.

"That's my boy. That's my good boy. You're getting me so close." He throbbed. "You want me to do it in your mouth?"

A choked assent, and Credence bobbed his head. Knees bent, Graves dug in with his heels. He hiked his hips in tight stuttery jerks. Credence clutched at the meat of his thigh, nails digging, and Graves spilled in his mouth with a grunt.

Pleasure drenched him, shocking in its force. Its eddies swept through him to his fingertips, tingling his bound hands. Dazed, Graves blinked down to see Credence pulling off, licking puffy lips.

There were tears in his eyes. Big ones, bright at the reddened corners. The good kind? thought Graves--but he couldn't tell for sure, and his gut went cold. 

"Credence?"

He almost wished he hadn't come. His brain would be less melted if he hadn't. His hands flexed against the bonds--

 _"Finite Incantatem,"_ Credence said.

He was clutching his wand. The silk bands slithered loose, unraveling to nothing. Released, Graves lurched up and reached for him, leaning to gather him in.

He got them settled with Credence more or less in disarray across his lap, snuffling in his aching arms. The birch wand vanished amid rumpled bedclothes. Credence wiped his eyes against Graves' shoulder, hiding his face.

"Shh," murmured Graves, "it's okay. It's okay. I got you." A soggy sniff. "What's the matter, baby? Talk to me."

Credence shook his head blindly. 

"Didn't like it?"

"I just," said Credence. His voice was very small. "I missed your hands."

Graves drew a breath and hugged him close. "Oh, Credence." He felt Credence's cock bump his thigh, half-wilted now, or maybe more than half. That in and of itself was an indictment: usually doing for Graves left him in a serious state. Grimacing, Graves pressed his mouth into the soft hair, smoothed his hands over the hunched back. 

"All right, I've got you now. Everything's okay. You want me to do something for that?" he asked, shifting his leg to indicate. "Or you want me to make it go away?"

"Make it go away," mumbled Credence, though he knew the spell himself.

Graves didn't argue. He spread a hand and cast. If a wizard learned no other spells at puberty, he learned _Flaccidus_. Early and well.

The tension slumped out of Credence, cock and all. He sagged into Graves' shoulder with a hitch of breath, then tucked his head under Graves' chin. For a while Graves only held him, lightly stroking, awash with remorse. At last Credence spoke in a murmur against his chest.

"I know what it's like to feel trapped. I didn't want to make you feel that way."

Graves' heart floundered. His breath caught in his chest. "I didn't," he said. "You didn't. Not for a minute."

"I know. It was like a game to you. Playing pretend."

"Not to you?"

There was another pause, a long one, before Credence spoke again. The teary blur had cleared from his voice. Every word was soft and distinct. 

"Before I came to live with you, when I was trapped, you were careful with me. You didn't do things to me just because you could. Even when I would've let you." He lifted his head to look at Graves, eyes burning dark. "You helped me get free."

 _Of course I did,_ Graves could've moaned. That was real. This was play. But it was no use insisting on a distinction that Credence didn't feel. To insist would make him the worst sort of tyrant. That line fell differently for every person, and where it fell for Credence wasn't for Graves to say.

"I want to be that kind of person, too," Credence said.

"You are." Graves cupped his face. "Credence, you are. That's why I wasn't worried. You think I'd let just anybody tie me up? Even for laughs?"

Credence smiled a little, but the smile had a fretful edge. Graves sighed.

"I didn't mean to throw you for a loop. I thought it might make things easier."

"Easier?" said Credence in disbelief.

"If you had me at your mercy. You know. Less intimidating." As if he weren't at Credence's mercy all the time. "Even I miss the mark now and then."

"Even you," murmured Credence, and Graves knew they were going to be all right. "You're not intimidating," he added, frowning at Graves with something like reproach. "Not to me."

"Glad to hear it."

"I just...I love your hands. I like it when you hold me."

"And if I can't, what good am I?" Graves cracked a smile, making no attempt to hide it. He stroked the dark hair back from Credence's face. It was long enough now to catch in his eyelashes, to cover the tips of his ears. "I told you when we started this, remember? You don't ever have to do anything you don't want. Not in our bed."

"Sometimes I don't know," said Credence, almost glum. "I still wanted to try."

"Well, sure. That's okay, too." Graves had done his share of trying when he was Credence's age. Not every experiment was worth repeating. Come to that, it was hardly fair of him to expect certainty, never mind that he was more used to partners steady in their repertoire, sure of what they did and didn't like.

Credence was eyeing him. "You liked it."

"Not if you don't, I didn't." At Credence's look, he said, "If you want to give it another shot sometime, we can. If not, don't sweat it." Graves shifted against the pillow. "Maybe it'd be better if we set up a whole scenario. I'm Grindelwald's right-hand man." He waggled an eyebrow. "You're the ace Auror who caught me."

Credence rolled his eyes. From him it was rare enough to be delightful. He rolled off Graves, hunting in the rumpled sheets for his wand. "I wouldn't be in bed with you then."

"You never know. Maybe I dosed you with potion," said Graves, enjoying himself in excess. He stretched an arm across the pillows and leaned back to more comfortably lounge. Only a hint of stiffness lingered. "Maybe you can't help it."

"How would you dose me when you're tied up?" Credence returned the wand to the bedside table, then rearranged himself into Graves' embrace. The dressing gown was slipping from his shoulders, baring a span of collarbone and milky skin.

"See, now you're thinking too hard." Graves nosed the curl of his ear. "You ready for some shut-eye? Or should I make myself useful?" He waggled his free fingers. "Maybe with these?"

Credence settled against him, shoulders to chest, and raised his chin. "Make yourself useful, please," he said. 

Taking hold of him in greedy hands, Graves did.

**Author's Note:**

> Set nebulously in future Book of Spells-verse. Otherwise Graves might be less cavalier about the tying up. 
> 
> You can find me at [unicornmagic.tumblr.com](unicornmagic.tumblr.com)


End file.
